by K. Lyn
"He will, Mother," she said. "I know he will."
Both of them were silent. More tears poured down her mother's face and Victoria hugged her again, hard. Victoria felt as if she could no longer breathe.
"I'll write to you, Mother," Victoria said. "I'll let you know when I get to where I'm going. Are you sure you won't come with me? What if Sir William comes after you because I pushed him away? It will be my entire fault. I couldn't bear it if something happened and you."
With tears streaming down her cheeks, her mother pushed her hand against Victoria's lips.
"This is not your fault, Victoria," her mother said. "If anything, this is my fault. You are my daughter and I should have been watching out for you. I shouldn't have ever let you go off with that wicked, wicked man. He stole your virtue and could have killed you."
"You did warn me, Mother." Tears began to spill down Victoria's cheeks too. "I just didn't listen. He offered me money to feed us when we were starving, and I took it. I didn't even ask you. Don't blame yourself."
"But I should have stopped him." Her mother's bottom lip quivered.
"Oh, Mother." Once again, Victoria hugged her mother. How long would it be before she saw her mother again? Months? Years? Being away from her mother made her feel like throwing up. "I love you so much, but I have to go."
"I know," her mother said. "I know…"
Shuddering, Victoria whipped around and grabbed her bag from the floor and then walked over to Dawson. She pulled him into a tight hug and he grunted, shocked. He's a good man. I can leave my mother in his care. After she had pulled away, she kissed Dawson's cheek.
"Take care of my mother, Dawson," she said.
He patted her cheek softly with one hand. "You take care of yourself too. And you will always be welcome with us. It doesn't matter to me how much richer Sir William is. Nobody messes with my daughter as long as she's with me."
"Thank you, Dawson," she said. "I've got to go. You'll be in less danger if I'm not around."
Feeling sadness and fear, she walked toward the door, opened it, and stepped outside. The clouds were thick and grey, and cold rain fell in fat dollops. She turned and ran to the paddock where they kept their horses, grabbed one of the halters that hung on the fence, and opened the gate. She lunged over to her dapple-gray stallion, Stormy, with a wide head, black mane and tail, and large eyes. Stormy lowered his head so she could put the halter on, and she put his nose through and tightened the strap around his ears. She grabbed the side of the halter, led him over to the fence, grabbed one of the leading ropes and tied knots at both sides of his halter. They had only one saddle and bridle and she had learned to ride without tack.
She pulled the horse out of the paddock, shut the paddock door, clambered onto his back, and slid downward until she was comfortable, with her bag resting in front of her at the base of Stormy's neck. After digging her heels into Stormy's sides, he burst into a fast canter. She then urged him into a gallop by driving her heels into him. Soon she and Stormy flew down a foreign path, heading toward a world she did not know.
***
After Sir William's bleeding, he got his horse and climbed onto her back. The ride from his estate to Victoria's house was a short one, but his anger was fierce and he immediately drove his heels into his horse's side to hasten the trip. The trees and the plains rushed by him as his horse snorted and ate up ground. Finally, he came upon a dumpy house with a paddock that was Victoria's home. He drew his horse to a stop, dismounted from her back, and growled when he realized something was wrong. There were no horses in the paddock, only fresh hoof prints. No fat hens pecked the ground by the house either.
"Victoria," he roared, dropping his horse's reins and not even bothering to tie her up.
He ran over to the door and discovered it was unlocked. Once inside, he let out a howl of anger. The house was empty. There was no food on the shelves. The only things that remained were a poorly made wooden table, a set of chairs, and a large bed. He knew even commoners didn't live this poorly.
As he stood in the house, shaking, he thought, I will find her. And he knew just where to look. Victoria had slipped up when she told him her mother was getting married. All it would take was a few questions around the town and he would find out who her mother had married and where she was. One thing for certain, he knew there was no way that Victoria, who had given up her virtue to feed her mother, would leave the woman alone for long. And when Victoria contacted her, she would contact him too. He would make sure of it.
Chapter Two
Light shown in from the window where Leon sat and he grasped his skull as his forehead throbbed. The full moon is tonight. I always have headaches before a full moon. He moved from his chair and glanced outside into the horizon where a small town appeared at the bottom of the hill. He could make out a giant fire in the middle of the town and sighed.
There was the sound of footsteps behind him and then the sound of knocking. Leon whirled around and walked past his large king-sized bed and the bookshelves which lined his walls. He opened the door to his small, mousy servant named Donovan who had dark black hair and blue eyes. Donovan was a new servant, since his first one had quit after Leon frightened him too badly. Donovan glanced at Leon nervously, as if he would devour him – then again, he just might.
"Are you ready?" Donovan asked.
"Is anyone ever ready to be shackled to a wall all night?" Leon asked dully. "But we must do as we must. I will ensure that I never kill anyone again."
Not like my brother. Visions of his auburn haired sixteen-year-old brother filled his mind, but he shook the memory away. Already the sun had begun to go down, and he could feel pain within his bones. It was only a matter of time now.
"You can control when you transform into a wolf on any other night," Donovan said. "Why can't you stop from transforming on full moons?"
"It has been that way with werewolves forever," Leon said, trying to be patient. "I can't explain it, just as I cannot explain why the venom from a werewolf bite made me like this."
Though Donovan didn't appear to like the short answer because his lips pursed, he nodded his head and moved to walk down the hallway. The hallway was dark and smelled of mildew, and there were cobwebs on the ceiling. Rich tapestries hung upon the walls and fine decorations graced cherry wood shelves, but they too were covered in layers of dust. It had been that way since Leon had been bitten by a werewolf two hundred and fifty years ago at the age of thirty-two and had been forced to fire all the servants to keep them safe. Now, one servant was enough, and usually he chose one who had secrets of their own, so that way they would be less likely to tell the world of his curse.
"Why won't you let me watch you transform?" Donovan asked.
"Because it would frighten you too badly," Leon said. "Do you truly wish to see it? Your uncle was the one who explained to you about this job, am I right? He fled from me weeks ago and he was a strong man. You would do well to remember that. Now let's hurry. I feel pain and cracking in my joints and the windows show the darkness."
"There is cloud cover."
"On a full moon, no amount of cloud cover will make a difference," Leon said.
Giving a timid nod, Donovan quickened his pace, walked down a flight of stairs, and then turned to the right where he opened the door for Leon. Leon entered a dungeon that had a pair of metal shackles fastened to a brick wall. There was no window, lest the townspeople hear his wild cries even more than they already did. There was only a piece of brown cloth lying on the ground for Leon to tear at while he was in his werewolf form.
Leon staggered into the dungeon and backed up against the wall with his hands up. Donovan headed in after him and nervously placed the shackles around Leon's wrists and snapped them shut. Now Leon was completely shackled to the wall with no hope of being released. He tried hard not to think about what would happen if Donovan decided not to unshackle him the next morning. As a werewolf, he was immortal. He would be up against the wall getting hungrier an
d hungrier for all eternity, and it wasn't like anybody would come searching for him because his entire family was dead.
"Do you need anything while you're here, sir?" Donovan asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
"No," Leon said. "Just get out of here. Fast. Get to your cleaning."
"No one man can possibly hope to clean an estate as big as yours," Donovan muttered, pivoted, and walked away.
An atypical youth. Leon frowned. I was that way once, so long ago. Once again, he thought of his brother and cringed. That memory always seemed to haunt him when he was in shackles.
Leon sat in his bedroom as his sixteen-year-old brother, Devon, sat beside him. His brother was small and thin with pale skin. Devon lifted his hand and pressed it to Leon's throat, which was covered in a bloodied bandage. His eyes began to tingle and his muscles ached. He let out a startled gasp.
"Leon?" Devon asked. "Leon, are you all right? Is it the wound?"
As more agony filled his muscles, Leon groaned and fell back onto the bed, dragging his nails over his skin. He felt as if there were bugs crawling underneath his flesh, devouring him from the inside out. Throwing back his head, Leon let out a wild scream of pain. It hurts so bad…so bad…He saw Devon's face above him and reached for it.
"Devon," he groaned. "Oh, God in heaven, Devon."
Then the taste of blood filled his mouth and everything went black.
Leon shook his head, pushing away the bad memory. This curse of his…If he was a braver man, he would have driven a sword through his head already. Alas, he was not a braver man. He resorted to staying here, shackled up in his own dungeon, so that way he would never have to wake up next to a corpse of somebody he loved again, knowing he had done the deed.
Leon awoke the next morning with a groan. His head pounded and he felt sick to his stomach. That was always the case after a full moon. Normal transformations he could handle. Full moons, though, were special. He sighed and began to pull at his shackles. Where was Donovan, the blasted boy?
"Donovan?" he called. "Donovan, where are you?"
A few minutes passed and then he finally heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Slow, hesitant footsteps. He watched as Donovan opened the door and came inside, pale-faced. Donovan shook from head to toe and his eyes were so big Leon wouldn't have been surprised if they fell from his sockets.
"Donovan?" Leon cocked his head.
"S…sir." Walking forward, Donovan pulled out the key and unshackled his wrists. "Are you okay?"
A moment went by as Leon scrutinized Donovan. I understand. Donovan looked at me when I transformed. That's why he's so scared. His lips tightened. He took a step toward Donovan and Donovan took a shaky step back.
"You looked, didn't you, Donovan?" Leon shook his head. "I warned you not to. I told you it would frighten you so much you would never sleep at night again."
For a moment, Donovan stared at his feet. He didn't say anything. His pale skin, quivering hands, and slumped posture revealed it all, though. Like so many others, Donovan hated just being in his presence. Leon was surprised he hadn't run.
"You can leave," Leon said. "I absolve you of your servant duties. I don't force anyone to stay here who cannot handle it, and I most certainly don't want a servant around who cannot obey important orders. I could have devoured you. On full moons, I don't remember who I am or what I am. Everything goes black. I couldn't have stopped myself."
"But what will you do?" Donovan raised his eyes. "Who will help take care of this house? And what if you escape this house in your werewolf form?"
"You let me worry about that," Leon said. "I have been a werewolf for a long time, and I will deal with the problems it comes with. I won't have a servant who can't handle me. Go back to your uncle."
Donovan remained still. His expression also appeared torn, as if he wanted to stay but equally wished to go. I do not want him to live with my curse. He is not ready. His uncle should never have sent him here. He's obviously still a child. There was one thing which would drive Donovan away, and he knew what it was. He could change at will at all times but the full moon.
Shutting his eyes, Leon focused on the glowing heat within his heart and pictured the moon high and full in the sky. He felt his muscles ache, his bones stretch, and his gums burn. When he opened his eyes, he could make out every fine detail of the room. He could see the small fly on the wall and the way its wings appeared like stained glass. He could even hear Donovan's heart pounding against his ribcage. A trickle of sweat ran down his nose and dripped to the floor. To Leon, it made a deafening noise.
Leon stopped the transformation, though it was hard, like touching himself and stopping halfway to an orgasm. His body yearned to finish the transformation and his skin tingled from the pressure. He still needed to talk, though, and as a full werewolf, the most he could do was snarl and growl. He glared at Donovan, who shivered and groaned, and let out a deep and angry cry.
"You did not listen to me when I told you to stay out." Leon's voice was a deep, angry, bumbling brook. "You are not ready. Leave. Now."
That was all the convincing Donovan needed. He let out a high-pitched cry befitting of a woman, spun around, and ran as fast as he could toward the door. Donovan opened the door, flew out of it, and ran down the hallway. With a sigh, Leon shut his eyes and focused on relaxing every muscle of his body – the crown of his head, his shoulders, his chest, his arms, and his burning feet. He shuddered and cupped his face in his hand. The migraine returned tenfold. He needed some actual sleep.
And now I need to find a new servant. He told himself the reason why he needed to have a new servant was because he had to have somebody to keep the keys to his shackles and make sure he didn't escape, but he knew the truth deep down. Werewolves had claws with no opposable thumbs and couldn't unlock a shackle. He could have easily left the key on the floor and released himself, which he had done on multiple occasions.
No, the real reason he wanted a servant was selfish. This cold estate was so lonely it made his heart ache to stare at the cold stone walls. He wanted a friend, somebody who wasn't disgusted by his werewolf form like Donovan, somebody he could trust and count on.
If only it wasn't so hard to find somebody brave enough to be friends with a werewolf…
Chapter Three
Sir William rode into town and pulled his horse to a stop next to a shop that had a sign that said Mary's. The street was crowded with people and horses, and he growled as he glanced at them. He knew just where he would start searching for Victoria's mother. Victoria had spilled her heart too many times for him not to have known.
"My mother…" Victoria sighed and gazed at the floor. "Before my father died, she was a seamstress in town. She sold her clothes with her friend, Mary, in her shop. After he died, though, something about her just disappeared. I can't…I can't go on without money. We lived hand to mouth when my father was alive. What are we going to do now?"
As Sir William gazed down at Victoria, he drew her into his arms and smiled into her hair. "Shh. I'll help you, Victoria. I'll help you. But you've got to do something for me."
His horse snorting brought him back to reality, and he dismounted and then pulled her over to several others that were tied to a wooden pole specifically made for the purpose. Once again, he focused on Mary's shop and walked over to it.
The shop was small with a glass window that had prim, stylish dresses on the inside as well as a couple of hats. He walked over to the door, opened it, and stepped inside. The shop smelled dusty and he fought back a sneeze. Mary was obviously in need of a good maid. He was shocked that she had any business at all with how unclean it was.
As he glanced around at the dresses, a plump woman with curly chestnut hair walked over to him. The woman had on a lavender dress and wore a cream colored hat with a purple bow wrapped around it. He grimaced when he observed her.
"Can I help you, Sir?" the woman asked.
"You are Mary?" he asked.
"Yes," Mary said. "Can I he
lp you with something? Are you buying something for your wife? Or are you courting, perhaps?"
As he gazed into Mary's beaming face, he thought, what an ugly commoner. Still, it did good to play along. He glanced at a black hat with a wide brim and picked it up, feigning interest. He whirled around and grinned at Mary, who still watched and waited for an answer to her question.
"I am going to be attending a wedding," Sir William said, "and I would like to purchase a present for the bride."
"Oh, how lovely," Mary said. "Who is the lucky lady?"
"Cecile," Sir William said. "Her name is Cecile."
A wide grin crossed Mary's fat face and made her pink cheeks bulge.
"Oh, how wondrous. Cecile is a good friend of mine. I can't believe she is getting married in just two weeks' time." After glancing both ways as if a person could have entered the shop without her noticing, Mary leaned forward. "Between you and me, I thought Cecile would never have the sense to get on her feet again. She used to help me out in this very shop, but after her husband died, she went mad. Wouldn't eat or feed herself. Left her poor daughter, Victoria, to fend for her. It's no wonder Victoria did some awful things no God-fearing woman should do. Almost feel sorry for her. But there is no reason for a young woman like Victoria to carry on in such a way, being with a man who isn't her husband."
"Victoria was carrying on with someone, was she?" Sir William asked, annoyance filling his stomach. Did she mean him or another man? Had Victoria spread her legs for more than just him? "Did anyone mention who it was?"
Once again, Mary looked around the store and then grinned. "Don't know myself, Sir, but I think it was somebody rich. Victoria had more money to buy food than I did half the time, and here I am, working my fingers to the bone. If she hadn't offered herself in such a way, I might have given her a place in my shop instead. But I wouldn't now, not to a woman such as that. People talk, you know."
"Oh, I know." Sir William put his hand on Mary's shoulder and peered deep into her eyes, though he was so repulsed by her plain features he wished to flinch. "Tell me, Mary dear, have you heard where Cecile and her betrothed will be living together? I used to visit Cecile quite often in the village after she became mad. I would like to check up on her from time to time."